Missing D7 Scenes: Season Four
by Laura Schiller
Summary: A series of scenes between Seven and the Doctor, one for each episode, to show their connection from th very beginning.
1. Scorpion

Missing D7 Scene Collection

By Laura Schiller

Based on Star Trek: Voyager

Copyright: Paramount

_1. Scorpion II_

"What in heaven's name are we going to do with you?" the Doctor asked, shaking his head at the Borg drone in his sickbay. Being unconscious, of course, it could not answer.

He regarded the being with a mixture of revulsion and scientific fascination. Part flesh, part metal, encased in cybernetic armor like some sort of insect in its shell, the human skin as pale as that of a corpse; Seven of Nine was a very odd creature indeed. How did the Borg manage to survive like that, running on the same fuel as the cubes they flew in, never needing to eat or clean themselves or do anything organic beings did? He was eager to scan it and find out. On the other hand, though, Captain Janeway might not want it on the ship much longer; even with its connection to the hive mind severed, it was definitely a security risk. Even if the Borg didn't come back to re-assimilate it, as soon as it regained consciousness, it would most definitely be unhappy.

A drone, accustomed to the unity of the hive mind, stranded on a shipful of individuals. Cut off from its comrades. Alone perhaps for the first time, more alone even than a hologram among organic shipmates. No wonder if it were unhappy.

"She," he corrected absentmindedly. "I suppose you are female, technically speaking."

Seve of Nine still retained a female figure, even beneath the armor. Her chalky face was the face of a human woman, with full lips, a straight nose and well-defined cheekbones. One eye was closed, the other replaced by some kind of Borg implant with a balefully glowing red light.

_What was your name before it became Seven of Nine? What color was your hair before it fell out? Who were your parents, your loved ones, and do they know what the Borg have done to you?_

She would have been beautiful, he realized, with a startled pang of something like pity. In a haunting, ruined sort of way, she still was.


	2. The Gift

_2. The Gift_

Seven of Nine in the brig was an extraordinary sight: somehow feral, in spite of her cybernetic technology. And yet there was something vulnerable about her too – her bald head, her bare arm with its strips of metal; she looked like a battered doll held together by duct tape. As soon as the Doctor came within her range of vision, she jumped up from her bunk and came as close as the forcefield would permit, glowering at him with one reproachful blue eye.

"_You,_" she snarled.

"Hello there," said the Doctor, smiling nervously. "Seven of Nine, is it? I've just come to take some post-surgery readings."

"It was _you_ who removed this drone's implants!" she snarled, watching him askance as he whisked his tricorder up and down.

"Guilty as charged. I'm this ship's Emergency Medical Hologram, by the way. You may call me Doctor."

"Your designation is irrelevant. State your reasons! Why did you violate us this way?"

He winced.

"Your life was in danger, I had to do it!"

"We should have died rather than endure this!" She put her hand to her head, as if the absence of the Collective's voice pained her unbearably. The Doctor watched, powerless to help; there was no hypospray or pill which could give her back the harmony of the hive mind.

"That's exactly what I told the Captain," he told the drone, his voice soft with sympathy. "I told her this went against my conscience. She ordered me to proceed."

Seven of Nine's face, already more flushed and healthy-looking than it had been a few hours ago, twisted into a look of utter hatred.

"Captain Janeway is a hypocrite!" she spat. "She claims to to stand for freedom, yet she keeps this drone imprisoned here."

"You tried to assimilate the ship," the Doctor pointed out wryly. "_And_ you attacked Ensign Kim. You can hardly blame the Captain for wanting to protect her own crew."

"Why does she not let us go?" Seven of Nine moaned, pacing around the small space like a trapped targ.

"Because she can't risk _Voyager_ being assimilated again. Also, I believe you're to be her next great challenge."

"Explain."

"Captain Janeway thrives on challenge," he said, rather proudly. "You might think of it as her quest for perfection – in a human way, that is. All the more so if she can help someone into the bargain. Think of the chance she's offering you – the chance of the life you never had, the life the Borg took from you!"

The drone turned her face away, looking immovable as the gray walls of her prison.

"Please don't be so hasty in judging her," he continued. "I myself have been granted extraordinary freedom by the Captain. You see this?" He gestured towards his left sleeve. "It's a mobile emitter. Picked it up during a, uh, time travel adventure about two years ago. Most Starfleet Captains would have confiscated it and kept me confined to sickbay, like every other EMH, but not Captain Janeway – she let me keep it. She's always there to help and advise me in my development as a sentient being, just as she is for every flesh-and-blood member of this crew. She's one of the most generous, open-minded and honorable beings I've ever known. You could do worse than to trust her."

Seven of Nine was finding it hard to concentrate on the Doctor's words. The silence was driving her mad; it yawned inside her like a great black hole, screaming to be filled. Instead of millions of minds speaking in harmony, there was only one voice – hers – and it was frightened. She detested the feeling. It made her weak. Now here was another voice, a hologram, who shouldn't even be sentient and yet somehow, he was. His voice was pleasant to her human ears; he looked at her in a way her long-dormant human instincts registered as kind and sympathetic.

She wanted to listen. She must not listen. He was an enemy. She must not trust Captain Janeway. The Collective ought to come for her. But oh, the Collective was gone, and Captain Janeway and this soft-spoken hologram were all she had how. All she had to trust and hold on to.

"_Unacceptable!"_ she screamed, about to hurl herself against the forcefield one more time.

That was when the hologram – the Doctor – reached through the forcefield and caught her by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said. "You poor young lady. I'm so sorry. But I promise you, Seven of Nine, that one day you'll look back and realize that we're doing is all for your own benefit."

Too startled to push him away for the moment, she simply gazed back into his hazel eyes with her single blue one.

"The perfect shade," he murmured. "Like the summer skies of Tuscany. And hair like golden wheat. I can see it."

He let go, leaving a cold space on her left shoulder where his warm hand had been, and walked away without explaining what he meant.


	3. Day of Honor

_3. Day of Honor_

Seven held herself as motionless as a statue while the Doctor ran his dermal regenerator over her. In her headlong rush out of Engineering just before the warp core was ejected, she had been caught by the closing doors and bruised quite painfully; it appeared that even her silver dermoplastic suit was no match for full Borg body armor.

"There," he said, smiling. "Good as new."

She ignored the smile, noting once more how very prone the human crewmembers were to distorting their faces in order to express emotion. She was in no mood for smiles in any case.

"The warp core is not 'good as new'," she pointed out acerbically. "In fact, it very nearly breached and exterminated the entire vessel. If I had not suggested the idea of building a a transwarp conduit, the core would still be in _Voyager's _posession. Lieutenant Torres' negative assessment of me was correct. I do not belong here."

There was absolutely no logical reason why sniping at an EMH shold provide her with such a feeling of relief. However, it did; more evidence of her humanity asserting itself, perhaps? She took a deep breath, deeper than necessary, and tried to force her features back into their usual impassive expression.

The Doctor shook his head and circled around the biobed to face her.

"Seven of Nine – "

"Seven."

"Excuse me?"

"My new designation, as per Captain Janeway."

"All right. Seven. You didn't deliberately cause the malfunction, did you?"

"No!"

"Then there's no reason for you to blame yourself. Accidents happen."

"On this inefficient vessel, they certainly do," she muttered, casting a dark look at the walls around her – so much brighter than a Borg cube, it was unsettling.

"As for Lieutenant Torres, she's … well … she's just volatile by nature. Try not to take it personally."

"She expects me to feel guilt towards the C'tati, because the majority of that race has been assimilated by the Collective."

"Don't you?"

"No. I was under the control of the hive mind. I never chose to assimilate anyone, any more than I chose to be assimilated myself as a child."

The Doctor nodded in understanding, thinking of one occasion when his own programming had betrayed him and his 'alter ego' had tortured Torres, kidnapped Kes and murdered an alien acquaintance. He understood how it felt to be made to do things without your consent.

"The C'tati representative tried to attack me," Seven continued, in a quiet monotone. "He asked me what I had done to his wife and children. He was even more hostile than Lieutenant Torres. If every being aboard _Voyager_ will react to me in this manner, perhaps I had better remain in Cargo Bay Two."

The Doctor threw her a reproachful look. "You, Seven, will do no such thing. Long-term isolation is highly detrimental to most humanoids' psychological health, all the more so for a person who has spent eighteen years linked to a hive mind. As your physician, I recommend that you interact with the crew, help them wherever you can, and put all that assimilated knowledge of yours to good use."

He dismissed her with a nod and a pat on the shoulder.

"Anything you need, I'd be happy to help!"

She paused thoughtfully halfway to the door.

"Lieutenant Paris has made a similar offer," she said over her shoulder. "It was … a surprising act of compassion."

"See? We individuals aren't all that bad." He beamed. "Did you thank him?"

"No."

"It's customary to say 'thank you', or show some form of appreciation when you receive an act of kindness. And the proper response for _that_ is 'you're welcome'. It's one of the first things humans learn. Might make the crew a little less … hostile … towards you."

"Thank you. I will keep that in mind," said Seven as she left.

The Doctor gazed after her at the closing sickbay doors, stroking his chin.

"What _she_ needs," he muttered to himself, "Are social lessons."

Since Kes had gone, he had no student or confidante left. He missed her with every photon in his matrix – her warm alto voice, her buttery curls and sunny smile, her eager curiosity and the unfailing respect and support she had always shown him. He sincerely hoped that, whatever state she was in at the moment – corporeal or not – that she was happy.

The universe worked in mysterious ways. Just when he had felt happiest with Kes as a friend, just when she was growing sweeter and lovelier than ever in the prime of her life, fate had snatched her away and replaced her with Seven of Nine – a woman who was harsh where Kes was soft, scarred where Kes was innocent. A woman who had so much to learn about being human … who could be taught, perhaps, the way Kes had taught him.

Seven could never fill the place of such a woman – the dearest friend a hologram could wish for. But if she needed him, he would be there.


	4. Nemesis

_4. Nemesis: Peacemaker_

"That damned Borg is driving me crazy!" B'Elanna exploded, throwing up her hands with enough vehemence to nearly knock the Doctor's tricorder out of his hand. "What gives her the right to tell me how to manage _my_ engines? The data she _stole_ – correction, _assimilated_? She gives orders over my head, nitpicks everything I do, calls me inefficient – I'm telling you, I can_not_ work with her anymore!"

A few minutes later, trying to scan Seven as she paced around her cargo bay (which was harder than it looked; the woman's legs went on forever, and her strides were correspondingly long, especially when angry), the Doctor heard the opposite complaint: "Your Chief Engineer is irrational, emotionally unstable, and inefficient! She obstructs my progress, negatives every suggestion, and raises her voice to unacceptable volumes. I cannot function efficiently with her!"

With Chakotay missing in action on the Kradin planet, Tuvok on the way to rescue him, and the Captain busy negotiating with Ambassador Treen, _Voyager's_ two most stubborn, contentious women were left without a mediator. Engineering was a minor war zone. The Doctor pitied all those poor souls working down there.

Thinking of minor war zones, however, reminded him unpleasantly of the much larger and deadlier one on the planet's surface. Chakotay's shuttle had crashed in the middle of it. The chances of his still being alive were not that good; even if he were still alive, Chakotay and battles were a dangerous combination. The man had worked so hard to overcome his aggression toward the Cardassians; would he be able to hold on to his newfound sense of peace in a situation so reminiscent of his Maquis days?

The Doctor pushed his concerns to the back of his mind as he said soothing things to the rival engineers, conducted experiments, and patched up yet another of Harry Kim's holodeck injuries. However, the return of Chakotay and Tuvok – physically, if not mentally, unharmed – was the proverbial load off his back.

The First Officer's brain was thoroughly scrambled up due to the Vori's psychotropic manipulation techniques. If it weren't so morally reprehensible, the Doctor would have been fascinated to figure out how it worked. As it was, he could see quite plainly that the Vori war propaganda against the Kradin had had a strong effect. When Ambassador Treen approached Chakotay (with a courtesy quite at odds with his wild hair and pointed fangs), the Commander only glowered at him and stormed out of the room.

"Have I said something wrong?" asked the Ambassador.

_It might be a while,_ thought the Doctor, _until our ship's peacemaker is himself again._


	5. Revulsion

_5. Revulsion_

"I wish to understand a certain aspect of human male behavior," said Seven. "Assist me."

The Doctor leaned forward on his desk, closed his eyes, and sighed. He had barely finished cleaning up his sickbay from the depredations of Tom Paris and had been looking forward to an evening filling out reports. A nice, quiet evening in which to recover from the horrific shock his systems had received from their encounter with the murderous Isomorph. The last thing he wanted was to deal with was an abrasive Borg, especially one who persisted in asking unanswerable questions.

"Hadn't you better talk to the Captain?" he asked wearily. "I'm sure she's much more suited to be a confidante tha I am."

"She is not a male."

"I'm a hologram, remember?"

"That is irrelevant. Your behavior is typical of a human male, including sexuality."

He bolted up from his chair in righteous indignation. "Ex-_cuse _me?"

"You find my body aesthetically pleasing. That is why you have provided me with these form-fitting garments, correct?" She placed her hands on her hips, turning slightly as the light shimmered along her silver catsuit.

"Er – I suppose so," he admitted, squirming in his uniform. "My creator was – well, he designed my program to be adaptable. I've picked up a great deal of … quirks from my shipmates over the years, including this."

Seven leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk. and fixing him with a steady blue gaze.

"From your perspective, can you tell me what it means when a male displays obvious attraction towards a female, yet refuses to have sexual relations with her?"

The Doctor froze in panic for a moment. 'Obvious attraction'? Was that what she thought of him? He was _not_ attracted to her, was he? He admired her like – like a painting, or a sculpture, a particularly satisfying work of his. He liked to look at her body only because he was so proud of having successfully removed eighty-two percent of its Borg implants. It was Pygmalion and Galatea. Without the romance, of course.

"What are you saying?"

"Ensign Harry Kim has been staring at me with flushed cheeks and dilated pupils ever since we began working together on the schematis for the new Astrometrics lab. He attempts to engage me in idle conversation and, after duty, social activities including a Ktarian moonrise simulation. However, when I offered to engage in sexual relations with him, he reacted with confusion and fear. I do not understand."

The Doctor smothered a laugh behind his hand. Oh, poor Harry! He could just see it – Seven blunt and clinical, the young Ensign looking like the proverbial deer in the headlights. There were times when the 'confidentiality' aspect of his programming was a real pain … how he would love to see the look on Tom's face when he told the story.

Seven's stony expression, however, reminded the Doctor that this was no laughing matter. He cleared his photonic throat (human mannerisms again) and tried to collect his thoughts, combining what he knew about Harry with what Seven had just told him.

"You were trying to 'experiment', I suppose?"

"Yes. You told me to interact more with the crew."

"That's not exactly what I had in mind. Look, Seven …Mr. Kim _is_ attracted to you – you were right about that. But he also knows that, since you were so recently separated from the Collective, you simply couldn't deal with all the complex emotions of a romantic relationship. Could you? Can you see yourself falling in love with Ensign Kim, committing to him as a partner, interacting with him on a much more intimate level than anything you've ever experienced?"

Seven flinched away unsconsciously as the Doctor moved his face a little closer. She looked just about as shocked as Harry must have before.

"Love is irrelevant," she snapped. "It would be a waste of my time."

"Exactly. And so Harry, being a good man, turned you down for your own good. In a way, you could consider yourself lucky; there _are_ beings who would have taken you up on your offer and never considered the results."

Seven's features relaxed ever so slightly, until she looked more thoughtful than severe.

"I understand," she said.

For a moment, the Doctor was reminded of a similar situation about a year ago. A half-crazed B'Elanna Torres, infected with the _pon farr_ by Ensign Vorik, had pursued Tom with all the fierce passion of her Klingon heritage and would have happily used him to burn off her condition if Vorik had not provided a better outlet (as a Vulcan punch bag).

Tom had confided in the Doctor later (as they were in the habit of doing, when it came to love) that he had said no at first. Much as he loved and desired B'Elanna, he had not wanted to take advantage of her hormone-addled state; he would have done it to save her life, but felt guilty all the same.

Tom and Harry were alike in that; they shared a sense of honor when it came to relationships which the Doctor admired very much. He was very glad for Tom and B'Elanna, who seemed to be finally an item; in fact, the Doctor had caught them kissing in a turbolift this very day.

As for Harry, well … he was a sweet young man and someday, some woman would be lucky to get him. Seven of Nine, however, was not that woman. At least not yet.


	6. The Raven

_6. The Raven_

The Doctor was having an all-too-busy day, and it was entirely Seven's fault.

" … and then she said, 'you will be assimilated', knocked me down and stormed out of the room!" Neelix concluded plaintively from his prone position on the biobed.

"I see."

"It couldn't have been the meal I served. That recipe has been in my family for generations!"

"Was it the yellow stuff that gave Ensign Kim heartburn the other day?"

"But that was stir-fried. This was steamed!"

"Never mind. You're good to go, Mr. Neelix."

Instead of going, however, the Talaxian remained, sitting up and shaking his bewhiskered head.

"I thought she was actually starting to like it here," he said. "You know … in her own Seven-esque sort of way. I was just teaching her how to chew and swallow. She held that fork like a hypospanner," with a sad little chuckle.

"Poor Captain Janeway will be so disappointed. She's practically adopted the girl, hasn't she?"

"That may be a little extreme," the Doctor warned, rolling his eyes at Neelix's rose-colored view of the world.

"I don't understand it," said Neelix. "I do _not_ understand it."

_Neither do I,_ thought the Doctor.

Out loud, all he said was: "Repeating yourself won't help, Mr. Neelix. Now, if you would kindly vacate the bio-bed? I have more patients coming in."

The patients in question were two security officers, one of whom was unconscious and being dragged with one arm over his fellow's shoulders. Tuvok followed, looking grim, even by Vulcan standards.

"Seven of Nine, eh?" the Doctor guessed.

"She's got Borg shields," the young ensign explained breathlessly. "They've adapted to our phasers. We couldn't touch her. She was headed for the shuttle bay."

"That woman!" the Doctor exploded, managing to work on his patients and give vent to his frustration and anger at the same time in his multitasking hologram fashion. "If she _must_ go off the rails and run amok through the ship – _again_ – couldn't she at least do it when we're not negotiating with a bunch of obnoxious aliens for safe passage through their space?"

"The Bomar intend to kill her if they can find her," Tuvok chimed in. "She will attempt to cloak her shuttle – however, we _must_ track her down before they do."

His junior officer let out a yelp of outrage.

"But sir - she attacked us!"

"She is a logical being, Ensign. For her to behave in this erratic manner suggests the possibility of outside interference, perhaps a signal from the Borg. As you would say, she is not herself."

"Well, of course, the Borg! She _is_ one, darn it! She's going back to them, that's all – and if the Bomar shoot her, they'd just be doing what we do all the time – stopping a threat."

The Doctor and Tuvok levelled a combined glare on the Ensign which made him shrink in his polished boots.

"Seven of Nine," said the Doctor,"Is the Captain's protegée and a member of our crew."

"We _will_ protect her," added Tuvok.

Nothing more needed to be said.


	7. Scientific Method

_7. Scientific Method_

In the aftermath of _Voyager_'s death-defying flight through a binary pulsar, as the crewmembers found themselves taking a deep breath and feeling glad to be alive, Seven's feet directed her to Holodeck Two almost in spite of herself. She wanted to take another look at that Leonardo da Vinci simulation to which Captain Janeway had introduced her recently, and which the Doctor had been using as a holographic hideout after the Srivani had taken him off-line.

The Srivani. She'd never admit it, but in the old human phrase, they gave her the creeps. She still caught herself looking around out of the corner of her ocular implant, checking for silent figures in brown robes scanning people with instruments or sticking them with needles. Due to the Doctor's adjustment, she had been the only one able to see them – at first, anyway.

The painting studio was still running, but the students were gone. Instead the Doctor stood by the window in his doublet, hose and feathered hat, drawing with a lead pencil in tiny, measured strokes. The 'night sky' was a deep, velvety blue; the room was lit by a dozen white candles, throwing the half-finished sculptures around the room and the flying machines hanging from the ceiling into flickering lights and shadows. For a moment, it looked as if wings were growing from the Doctor's back. Seven blinked, and the illusion was gone. It was .

"Lovely, isn't it?" he said, with a sweeping arm gesture to include the entire room.

"It is disorganized," she commented, picking up a rough sketch of 'Carlotta', the holographic model from earlier that day. "Yet … strangely fascinating."

"You _would_ think so."

"Should you not be in Sickbay?"

"Oh, Ensign Wilde's got it covered. Mr. Paris switched duty shifts with him – for _personal reasons_, I suppose."

He winked. Paris and Torres's love affair was fodder for shipwide gossip. Seven ignored the hint as only Seven could ignore things, and instead of asking for details, she merely paced around the room, idly examining some work in progress or other.

"How did you do it, by the way?" the Doctor asked suddenly.

"Do what?"

"De-cloak the aliens. If you'd finished modifying the EPS relays, we'd all have noticed."

"Commander Tuvok interrupted me and became suspicious. To convince him, I de-cloaked the nearest Srivani with a modified phaser beam, took her hostage, and brought her to the Captain."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle.

"Good heavens. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

Seven drew herself up, stiffer than ever. "Was my behavior wrong?"

"No!" he hurried to say, catching the hurt hidden far down inside those blue eyes of hers. "As a matter of fact, you did splendidly. You saved us all."

She blinked. "I did?"

"I can think of few people who would have demonstrated the self-posession and courage you showed today. Watching those … _people_ … hurting and manipulating our crew, knowing you're the only one who could see them and walking with your head held high as if nothing was wrong?"

"I am Borg. I do not demonstrate emotion."

"Ah, but you do. I've seen you frightened, remember?"

She remembered her first day severed from the hive mind, screaming and snarling, feeling like a trapped animal inside _Voyager_'s brig. She had forced herself to fight that feeling down, to ignore the Srivani as if she could not see them, and finally to catch one and prove they were real. Now she felt drained from the stress of the day; perhaps the Doctor was right.

"Part of social interaction, Seven my dear, is learning to take compliments. If I say you're a remarkable woman, please believe it."

Seven felt an unfamiliar warmth spreading to her cheeks. After all the damage she had caused aboard this crew ... her ignorance of protocol, her taking up of Captain Janeway's precious time, let alone her two attempts to break out, assimilate the ship and join the Collective ... she had put them all in so much danger. Now here was this hologram - this man - telling her she had saved them, that she was doing something right. A powerful feeling rose up in her, like a wave, choking her voice as she spoke.

"If I am functioning as an efficient and productive member of this crew, that will be sufficient."

The Doctor rolled his eyes, smiled tolerantly, and handed her the sketch he had been working on. It was her own face, implants and all, staring out at the viewer with fierce determination.


	8. Year of Hell

_8/9. Year of Hell_

The mess hall/ready room/briefing room/sickbay, serving all these functions at once because the latter three were too severely damaged, was dark, rather smelly, and crammed with people. Wounded people lying on blankets on the floor, others eating at tables pushed together for space. The Doctor and his medics (sans Tom Paris) moved grimly from patient to patient, selecting the ones in greatest danger and letting the others go. The Doctor remembered snapping at Tom once, for staying with B'Elanna a moment longer than necessary. He had lectured Tom on the importance of emotional detachment during triage situations, only to have Tom snap back that if anyone was emotional, it was the Doctor.

Confound the man, he was right – the Doctor's ethical subroutines had been tormenting him ever since he had been forced to leave two crewmen behind on a deck about to collapse. Now, he didn't even have his squabbles with Tom to distract him; Tom was gone. Kidnapped by the Krenim. Who knew if they'd ever argue again?

And here was another patient – Tuvok, unconscious on the floor, with a chalk-white Seven of Nine kneeling next to him. She was trembling and trying to hide it; her hairstyle was falling apart, her suit ripped and stained.

"What happened?"

"A chronoton torpedo," she answered, her voice hoarse and unsteady. "We found it in a jefferies tube. The Commander ordered me to step away, but I was trying to calculate its exact temporal variance in order to defuse it. I disobeyed. The torpedo detonated, and he pushed me behind him … tell me, what is the extent of his injuries? Can you repair him?"

The Doctor let out a sigh, lowered his tricorder, and rattled off his report in his best 'objective' tone.

"I could, if it weren't for damaged equipment and a severe shortage of medical supples," he wound up, "But I'm afraid I won't be able to restore his eyesight."

Seven said no word, but set her lips and turned even paler. Tthe look in her eyes made the Doctor feel as if he had murdered something, rather than ineffectually trying to help.

_I've never seen her like this, _he thought. _Does she care this much for Commander Tuvok? Or is it only guilt?_

Suddenly her eyes flared up again, taking on a steely determination which would do Captain Janeway proud. She resettled herself on the floor, hands clasped around her knees, preparing to sit there for however long it took Tuvok to wake up.

"I shall assist him," she declared. "By any means necessary."

The Doctor, too busy to argue with her about the ramifications of such a decision, only nodded and squeezed her shoulder.

"Good for you, Seven."

_Seven of Nine, Tuvok's seeing-eye drone. Who'd have thought? _He caught himself using Tom's irreverent sense of humor. He could even see his chief medic's half-bemused, half-admiring look in his mind's eye.

_Take that to anyone who'd accuse her of having no heart._


	9. Random Thoughts

_10. Random Thoughts_

"Doctor to Seven of Nine."

"Seven here."

"Could you come to Sickbay a moment, please? I'd like your opinion on something."

"On my way. Seven out."

A tall sleek figure in a brown dermoplastic suit glided into a turbolift and down the corridor. The Sickbay doors opened with a whoosh to let her in. The Doctor looked up from his microscope and waved Seven over; with her sharp ocular implant, she couldn't help but notice that his smile of greeting was several millimetres less wide than usual. A simple aberration – or a sign of his concern about Torres?

"I was just wondering … as you would say … has the Mari species' distinciveness ever been added to the Collective?"

She consulted her mental database. _Mari … Species 6547 … humanoid … telepaths …_

"Negative. You could have asked me that via commlink."

He shrugged. "I suppose I prefer talking face to face."

Suppose. He was being deliberately vague. Did he even realize how annoying that was?

"Why did you want to know?"

The Doctor peered anxiously at the stack of padds, the microscope, and the collection of assorted fluids and powders he was working with. "I was hoping your Borg mind could provide me with some information on that 'engrammatic purge'. Ah, well. I'll have to rely on my own skill … considerable as it is … again."

He sighed.

"Engrammatic purge. That is the procedure Lieutenan Torres will undergo, correct?"

He winced. "If Tuvok and the Captain can't stop it, unfortunately so."

The expression on his face gave her pause. He screwed his eyes shut and pursed his lips as if he were in pain himself, which was impossible. A gesture of sympathy for Torres?

"Is the procedure dangerous?"

"As a matter of fact, it is!" he snapped. "Chief Examiner Nemira told the Captain, and I quote, _'There is a risk of neurological damage'_! It's Chakotay's brainwashing all over again, only this time they'll rip the thoughts out instead of stuffing them in! It's barbaric, that's what it is! Like – like rewriting a hologram's programming against their will. And they call themselves an enlightened society! Ha!"

"You are limiting your judgement to a human perspective," Seven argued, locking her hands behind her back. She had never argued so much in all her twenty-four years of existence, as a little girl _and_ a Borg, as she was now doing every day. It was by way of being quite exhausting – yet stimulating at the same time.

"Consider that the Mari are telepaths. Their thoughts are a public domain, not unlike a hive mind in that respect. It is logical that they be kept under surveillance as humans do for public streets and airways?"

"You sound like Tuvok." The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Apparently he and Nemira are hand in glove on this issue. That means in perfect harmony," he added quickly, at Seven's puzzled tilt of the head.

"That is not true. Commander Tuvok is determined to see Lieutenant Torres proven innocent, hence sparing her the purge. The Chief Examiner misinterprets this as rejection of her crime-solving method, and is letting her injured feelings impact her judgement. She wants Torres to be purged in order to prove her methods correct."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up like startled birds. "How do you - ?"

"The remaining components of my neural interface have been picking up Mari telepathy. Commander Tuvok's quarters are one floor above the cargo bay; his dispute with the Chief Examiner was clearly perceptible. They interrupted my regeneration cycle for 34.52 minutes."

"Did they?" His right hand inched towards the tricorder; she took a step back.

"I am functioning within acceptable parameters, Doctor. There is no need to scan me."

He looked down at his hand, than back at her face, and tucked both hands behind his back with a rueful sort of shrug.

"I agree with the Commander," she went on, "That the case needs to be closely examined. However, if Torres' violent thought was indeed responsible for the beating and the murder, it is the Mari's right to penalize her as they see fit."

The Doctor looked shocked. Then he glared.

"Don't tell me you _wanted_ this to happen!"

Honestly confused, Seven lost control of her face for a moment. Her eyes widened; blood rushed to her cheeks. "Doctor?"

"I know you two don't exactly see eye to eye, but for you to be so vindictive – "

"You are mistaken," she interrupted with icy fury. "I have no desire of seeing harm come to any member of this crew, even Torres. If she is innocent, Commander Tuvok and Captain Janeway will uncover the truth. If she is guilty – " Her next words caught in her throat for a moment. "That would be – regrettable. But justice must be served."

The reality of the situation hit her then, with full force, as she remembered Nemira's vaguely menacing descriptions of the engrammatic purge. She had a momentary flashback of huddling under a console, six years old, as the red-eyed, armored figures of drones lurched towards her, tubules outstretched. That space she was only just learning to accept as private, Seven's alone … violations of the mind …

"As you say," the Doctor interrupted, anger and resentment draining out of his brown eyes. "Commander Tuvok and Captain Janeway are on the case. And I, for one, believe in them."

Seven took a deep breath, struggling for calm.

"Yes. Yes … so do I."

"I'm sorry for suspecting you like that."

"Apology accepted."

The Doctor smiled again, a very small, very gentle smile. His standard physical parameters were not handsome, but he had the most vividly expressive face of any crewmember on this ship. His emotions were displayed so clearly that even a recently liberated Borg drone could 'read' him without effort. Talking to him face to face was like watching a fireworks display. Intriguing.

Seven caught herself and summarily dismissed these thoughts as irrelevant. One little corner of her mind, however, went on studying the subtle nuances of that smile of his.

_Individual thoughts are indeed very difficult to control. Perhaps my judgement of Torres has been too hasty after all._


	10. Concerning Flight

_11. Concerning Flight_

"Seven! How lovely to see you, scanning for stellar phenomena in your brand-new Astrometrics lab! In fact, it's lovely to see anything besides biobeds and medical equipment! As you can see, I've got my mobile emitter back. I say, Seven! Did you know that humans consider it rude to keep your back turned when someone's talking to you?"

Seven, back-lit by a scattering of stars across the viewscreen, swung around with a long-suffering air.

"State your purpose, Doctor."

"Just roaming around the ship a bit. Enjoying my freedom. Oh, and by the way – you _were _going to tell me all about your latest clash with Lieutenant Torres."

"You are, as you said, free," she pointed out acerbically. "You no longer require me to ply you with trivialities to keep you entertained."

"You, however, could use the practice in the fine art of human conversaion."

"I am on duty."

"Surely you can scan and converse at the same time."

"Very well." Her eyelids twitched ever so slightly,as if she were tempted to roll her eyes in irritation. "Torres and I were ingesting the second meal of the day in the mess hall, after our shift in Engineering. We were reviewing the effect the absence of the computer processor had on the function of the engines and discussing ways to compensate, in case the Captain was unable to recover it.

"I pointed out several flaws and inconsistencies in Torres' plan. She knew I was correct, yet instead of acknowledging her mistake, she became emotional. She said: "Don't you take that tone with me, you mindless automaton! Who do you think you are?" I was about to answer, but she cut me off, leaning her face within seven centimetres of mine. Her leola-scented respiration was most unpleasant. She called me a _p'taq_, a bitch, and a fucking Borg ice queen.

"At that point, the volume of her voice caught the attention of Ensign Paris from the next table, who caught her by the shoulders and pulled her away from me. Mr. Neelix emerged from behind the counter, wringing his hands, and repeatedly and irrelevantly apologized to me. He claimed that Torres has been _'on edge lately'_ and that I must not blame her for _'overreacting a little'._ I finished consuming my leola root stew and proceeded to Astrometrics, where Ensign Kim had his own opinion to voice about my lack of social skills. What does he mean by saying I should phrase things more diplomatically?"

The Doctor puthis hand to his forehead. _Good heavens. I've certainly got my work cut out for me. How can we ever turn _this_ into a fully functioning member of human society?_

"Your communication is an issue all on its own. We'll need to discuss that. The story was … acceptable."

"Did it contain enough _details_?"

"Yes. By the way, next time you see B'Elanna, do apologize."

"Why?" Seven snapped. "I was right, she was wrong. It is she who owes me an apology!"

"True. But she's also a proud woman, and it's highly unlikely that she'll take the first step to reconciliation. That's up to you."

"I have done nothing wrong," she continued obstinately.

"You were, as Ensign Kim would say, undiplomatic."

"Explain."

"Don't tell someone their plan is _flawed._ Tell them it could … 'use improvement', or something like that. The meaning is the same, but it's less … offensive."

This time Seven really did roll her eyes.

"I do _not_ understand."

"I know," said the Doctor sympathetically. "Come and see me after hours. I've got a simulation prepared. Let's see if we can work a bit on those communication skills of yours."

He turned to leave the room.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?" glancing over his shoulder.

"I am … pleased … that you have regained the use of your mobile emitter."

"Why, Seven, how thoughtful of you!" He beamed.

"It will enhance your efficientcy as _Voyager's_ Chief Medical Officer."

"Ah. Er, yes. Well then, I'll see you later."

She gave him that tiny goodbye nod, which was becoming a habit of hers, as he left the room.


	11. Mortal Coil

_12. Mortal Coil_

Neelix was, to say the least, in a bad way. He lay unconscious on a biobed in Sickbay, the purple, brown and yellow markings on his face standing out luridly against his ash-pale complexion. Seven could not keep her eyes away.

"He'll be fine," said the Doctor, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He should be conscious in an hour or so. Don't worry."

Seven wished she _could_ stop worrying. It hurt to worry, but not in any place she could pinpoint; it was as if someone had hooked her mind with a tractor beam and was dragging her thoughts continually in the same direction … What about Neelix? He would survive, of course, thanks to her nanoprobe treatment … but … !

"What have I done?" she whispered. "Was I in error, Doctor? To reactivate Neelix in this way?"

The Doctor looked from her to his patient and back again, then shook his head. "No! No, how could you be? You saved his life!"

"Neelix informed me that he did not ask to have his life saved," she replied, with a certain bitterness. "Just before he … collapsed … while I was scanning him in the mess hall, we had … an altercation. He was … angry. I have never seen Neelix angry before."

Neither had the Doctor, whose surprise and concern showed in his face.

Seven remembered that pacing, fidgeting man who did not seem like Neelix at all, who had gotten in her face and bared his teeth to shout at her. _"Maybe Neelix died on that shuttlecraft, and I'm all that's left … I didn't ask to be brought back! You Borg think you can fix everything, but you didn't fix me! Just leave me alone! GET OUT!"_

This, followed by his collapse as his cells reverted back to a necrotic state, leaving her to carry him to Sickbay, had left Seven more deeply shaken than she cared to admit. Rather than admit her vulnerability, however, she became angry.

"When I proposed the nanoprobe treatment, I was acting in the best interest of both our crew and Neelix himself. He is alive and functional, yet instead of being grateful for this, he shouted at me and taunted me about my Borg heritage. I do not approve of such irrational behavior!"

"Seven!" The Doctor held up both hands in a placating gesture. "I know what you mean. And yes, he was out of line. But you must understand … this has been a very traumatic experience for him. Did you know he's religious?"

"No. Religion is irrelevant." Seven remembered her discussion with Tuvok, where she had confided her bewilderment as to the elaborate myths and rituals humanoid cultures came up with to soothe their fear of death. A simple biological truth. The Borg didn't bury or cremate their dead; they simply left them, and when necessary, scavenged parts. The Borg did not believe in deities, souls or afterlives – it was a verifiable fact that each drone's memories was retained within the Collective mind, even when that drone's body was no more. If that sounded suspiciously like the existence of a soul, Seven refused to admit it.

"You _would_ say that. Neelix's Talaxian faith is very important to him. That's why he organizes Prixin every year. And considering his past … the fact that his family was killed and his homeworld destroyed in war … it's only natural that the idea of a peaceful afterlife, where he could be reunited with his loved ones, would be a source of comfort to him."

Seven felt suddenly cold, although the environmental settings had not changed. She began to see where this was going. If she weren't Borg and above that sort of thing, she might have called on a deity herself and prayed to be forgiven for the damage she had caused.

"There have been cases on record," the Doctor continued somberly, "When, after a near-death expeience, a patient went through a psychological crisis because they had no recollection of an afterlife, or perhaps because they felt they did not belong among the living anymore. That may be what Mr. Neelix has been going through these past two days. It would explain a lot. To have one's core beliefs shaken to pieces like that … is it any wonder he doesn't feel himself anymore?"

"You are speculating," Seven pointed out. She did not want to hear that this was true.

"I know." He sighed. "I just have a hunch, as Mr. Paris would say."

For a while they stood in silence, watching their patient. There was nothing else to be done.

"What I wouldn't give for a trained counsellor on board!" said the Doctor finally. "As it is, we've got Commander Chakotay with his vision quests, Commander Tuvok with his Vulcan meditation, and of course our Captain … they _might _get Neelix out of this somehow, but there's no guarantee."

Hearing the names of the three wise, patient, compassionate senior officers was like a load off Seven's back. The Doctor was right. They could take care of Neelix, if anyone could … just as long as _Voyager_ didn't run into an external crisis to distract them.

"We should inform them," she said.

"Indeed." He nodded. "But before we do, there's one thing I want to say. Don't blame yourself."

She raised her eyes from the floor and met his gaze.

"It was a good thing you did, bringing our morale officer back. His function is, as you say, diverse – he's not only our cook, he's … well, he's the sunshine-maker of the ship. Figuratively speaking."

Seven understood the metaphor. She imagined Neelix bustling through the mess hall with his yellow apron and perennial smile, taking orders, cracking jokes, sitting down with someone if they happened to be alone and doing his level best to coax a smile out of them. He had cooked her first meal, she remembered, clucking and shaking his head over the Doctor's nutrition chart. He had put a flower on the table, pulled out her chair, and showed her how to use a fork (_"Like a little shuttlecraft moving into a docking bay, hmm?"_). He was always so busy working to make others happy, somehow one never stopped to wonder if he was happy himself. One simply assumed that he was.

It took something like this – nineteen hours of death, nanoprobes and a breakdown in the mess hall – to remind you that Neelix was more than a bundle of sunshine. He was a man, an individual, with a heart that could be broken.

But if there was anything Seven had learned over the past months, it was that broken things could be healed. Witness herself, a Borg assimilated at the age of six, living free from the Collective and carving out a place for herself on this ship little by little.

"He must recover," was all she could bring herself to say.

"He will." The Doctor gave her another reassuring touch, this time a squeeze of her hand. "He's got us."

She raised both eyebrows, including the one covered by her ocular implant.

"The Borg-hologram surgical team. We could work miracles together, you know. Have you ever considered a career in medicine?"

She did not smile, but judging by the twinkle in her colleague's eyes, she realized he could see his encouragement was working.


	12. Waking Moments

_13. Waking Moments_

When Seven woke up from the collective sleep which the dreaming aliens had forced on the crew, she found herself crumpled up on the floor in Astrometrics with an aching head and an unbelievable crick in her neck. The last things she could remember were the creatures herding them into the cargo bay (_her_ cargo bay, worse yet), Chakotay's vanishment and the captain telling them to 'take control of the dream'.

When her turn came for a check-up from the Doctor, he seemed even more inquisitive than usual. The subject of sleep fascinated him, perhaps because he was incapable of it himself.

"So, how did you find your first natural sleep in eighteen years?"

"It was hardly natural, the aliens forced it upon me. I prefer to regenerate in my alcove."

"You might think differently if it had happened in a soft bed." For reasons which were completely beyond her, the Doctor turned away after saying that and absorbed himself in his tricorder readings.

"Regeneration is efficient. It occurs automatically as soon as I close my eyes, and ends as soon as I have gained sufficient energy from the alcove."

"I know. Er … Seven … I'm curious." He tilted his head and opened his hazel eyes wide, n what was meant to be an appealing look. What did he want now?

"I am aware of that. It is a trait you display often."

He laughed nervously. "Well, the thing is … for everyone on this crew, their first experience with the dreaming species was within a dream. Not just any dreams either. Captain Janeway, for instance, dreamed about finding her crew as corpses in the mess hall, with _her_ at fault for not getting them home in time. Lieutenant Paris, our helmsman, dreamed about losing control of his shuttle. Neelix dreamed of being boiled alive in his own stewpot. I don't know what Ensign Kim's dream was, but I hear it involved a lovely young woman. All very vivid … evocative of each person's character, their fears, their desires. Perhaps the aliens were probing the crew's minds to find out their weaknesses. So I've been wondering …" He took a deep breath. "What did _you_ dream about?"

Seven took a step back, disconceted. This was as much as admitting he wanted to know her greatest fears and desires. They were _private._ He had no business asking.

It occurred to her, with a sudden feeling of disorientation, to ask herself when she had started living with the concept of 'privacy'. It was alien to the borg. Now here she was, actually taking it for granted. Curious.

"You needn't tell me if you don't want to, Seven. I promise you'd I'd keep it perfectly confidential. It's only … even after what, four months on this ship? You're still a bit of an enigma to me. I'd very much like to understand you a little better."

That made her relax a bit, but she still could not draw her eyes away from her own cybernetic left hand. It was clenched tightly as if to keep hold of a secret.

Her greatest fear … her greatest desire …

_The drone Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, stalked through the corridors of the U.S.S. _Voyager_ in full body armor, walking through forcefields and phaser beams as if they were made of water. She could hear the voice of the Collective in its mind, strong and calm, giving her a serene sense of order and a singleness of purpose. The doors to the bridge whooshed open. _

"_You will be assimilated."_

_Kim screamed and reeled back. Paris dove for the nearest phaser bank, grabbed the biggest one he could find, fired off a volley in Seven of Nine's direction, and cursed when her shields adapted._

_Captain Janeway rose from her chair, hands held up. The drone moved to face her._

"_Seven," she said in her smoky voice, blue eyes pleading. "I know you're still in there. We can talk about this. Seven, please – "_

"_Negotiation is irrelevant." The drone grabbed Janeway's jacket collar and sank her assimilation tubules into the side of her throat._

_Chakotay and the rest of them attacked in a blur of motion, but she moved like a steel hurricane, stabbing them all one by one until they lay sprawled on the floor or slumped against the consoles, their skin turning gray, Borg implants erupting on their hands and faces like spidery acne._

"_What the hell is going on here?"_

_The Doctor's clear, crisp tenor rang across the bridge as he transported himself into the middle of the fray,medkit in hand. When he saw Seven of Nine's work, and the set of tubules she had stuck into the Captain's computer screen, he gasped._

"_No … "_

_Desperate, he lunged at Seven of Nine to break her connection to the computer. She swatted him away._

"_How could you do this?" he screamed at her, lying on the floor. "Your Captain, your friends … __**answer me, Seven!**__"_

_She hauled him up and spat into his face: "We are Borg. Resistance is futile."_

_Then she grabbed the mobile emitter off his arm, leaving him to vanish. The last thing to fade was the look of horror in his hazel eyes._

_She looked away, and there was the bony yellow-skinned alien with the ridge in the middle of his face, staring at her as blankly as any drone._

_She woke up gasping for breath, in the cold and empty cargo bay, alone._

"Seven!"

The Doctor waved his hand across her eyes. She flinched.

"What's wrong? Are you all right? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked that."

His face, so frightened in the dream, was furrowed with a look of the warmest concern, as if he were about to give her a glass of warm milk or a hug.

"I do not wish to discuss my dream," she said tersely.

"Very well."

His hand moved in the direction of her face again, slowly this time, so as not to startle her. Ever so gently, he brushed an errant strand of hair back from her forehead. His photonic skin was quite warm.

"You're free to go," he said. "It's getting late … you should be regenerating."

Regenerating. She froze. It was absurd, weak, and altogether much too human, but the very thought made her break out in a sweat. She knew perfectly well that _Voyager_ was beyond the dreamers' space and none of them would come to disturb her sleep. But … if she had to live that nightmare one more time … !

"I cannot return to the cargo bay … alone," she said through gritted teeth, hating the weakness that forced her to ask.

"Don't even think about pulling another all-nighter," he warned. "Your regeneration cycle's been disrupted far enough. You need to set it back on track again if you want to function at peak efficiency."

He wagged his finger at her in that irritating, 'I'm-the-Doctor-and-I-know-better' sort of way. She glared.

"Would you … consider … " _This is embarrassing._ "Doctor, what is your next intended task?"

"Well, I was going to write up my medical reports … but of course, if there's anything you need - "

"Can you access them via the computer console in Cargo Bay Two?"

More puzzled than ever, he tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows again the way a dog might lift one ear to hear better. "Er – yes. I could. Why?"

"Do it."

In the depths of embarrassment at needing someone to watch over her sleep, like the six-year-old girl she had been, Seven found herself unsconsciously channeling the brusque tone of Captain Janeway. The Doctor's affronted look reminded her of all his painstaking attempts to teach her manners, and she felt like sinking through the floor.

"I mean … please. It would be … I would very much appreciate the company. Only for tonight. If you have the time … "

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully, propped one arm up with his elbow, stroked his chin, and said – "No."

Her heart sank.

"Dinner first. Your blood sugar levels are low and you need more fluids. I'm taking you to the mess hall, _then_ the cargo bay. And I guarantee you I'll be there when you wake up."

Before she could think of an apprpriate reaction, he linked her arm through his and led her out of Sickbay.


	13. Message in a Bottle

_14. Message in a Bottle_

Seven had not set foot outside of Astrometrics for ten hours. She felt like nothing but a pair of hands hovering above the computer console, scanning every inch of the abandoned sensor network; and a pair of eyes, fixed on the bundle of green lights on the viewscreen. She was waiting for the Doctor to come back.

The window of opportunity to send him along the network to that faraway Starfleet vessel had been too small to allow discussion; the Captain and Torres had basically snatched him up and sent him away, barely stopping to ask for his consent. There was a definite chance his program could degrade in some way, or be lost entirely. Seven calculated and re- calculated the odds inside her head.

She remembered the nervous smile on his face just before he'd vanished. _There's that word again,_ he'd said, chagrined, in response to the Captain's _Good luck. _The idea of relying on the vagaries of fortune to get back home had clearly frightened him. It was not fair to make him go, she thought rebelliously. What was so special about Earth anyway?

She caught herself. If the Doctor were here, he would remind her with exaggerated patience that chances to communicate with Starfleet 'don't grow on trees, you know', or some such trite but expressive metaphor. He had to come back.

"Any word on the Doctor?" asked Commander Chakotay from behind her.

"Negative," she said.

He came to stand next to her, contemplating the web of twinkling lights that was the sensor network, then turned the same look on her, which made her slightly uncomfortable.

"B'Elanna tells me you took her tools without asking," he said, his voice and face unreadable. "Did you?"

Seven flushed. That mistake had been the cause of her latest clash with Torres, who in Seven's opinion, was taking it all far too personally.

"It was a single isolinear processor. She did not need it at the time; I did. I was not aware that her permission was required. It was not even her property, but belonged to a stockpile in Engineering."

"Ah. Well, please remember to ask her next time. And don't go locking people out of public spaces, would you?"

"Noted, Commander."

She would have to ask the Doctor to explain just why individuals were so touchy about what belonged to whom, and who had a right to touch what. When – if – _when_ he came back.

"I'm here to relieve you, Seven," said Chakotay. A note of kindness crept into his low voice. "You've been working hard enough in here. You're free to go."

Relieve. Here was another oddity. Humans – at least, Starfleet officers – used the same word for the end of their designated function as for the end of some pain or hardship. As if, rather than living to be useful and efficient like the Borg, they could hardly wait to lay down the burdens of work and indulge in their preferred forms of 'recreation'.

Seven would be 'relieved' when the Doctor came – and not a moment sooner.

"I shall stay," she said.

Chakotay frowned, the lines of his forehead creasing his tattoo.

"But you've been here all day! Aren't you tired? Don't you need to eat or … regenerate or something?"

"Not for another forty-three hours." She meant the regeneration – come to think of it though, she _was_ hungry. She had been so concentrated on keeping watch for signals from the network that the signals of her own body had gone unnoticed.

Chakotay shook his head in amazement, either at her Borg physiology or her stubbornness. Or both.

"Well, if you're sure … Notify the bridge if anything happens, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

He left, smiling to himself.

Ten minutes later, a person in sharply clicking Starfleet boots walked in without saying a word. By the smell of them and the sound of their footsteps, Seven deduced that it was a petite Klingon/Human female with a hard day of work behind her.

"Lieutenant - ?"

By the time Seven turned around, the doors were closing. What looked like a tall glass of milkshake was standing on the edge of the computer console: Seven's nutritional supplement 14-alpha.


	14. Hunters

_15. Hunters_

"Doctor to Seven of Nine. Your weekly checkup is overdue. Come to Sickbay _now,_ if you please, and don't bother making excuses. I know for a fact that neither the Captain nor Lieutenant Torres has assigned you anything. Doctor out."

It was with set lips and an even stiffer posture than usual that Seven stalked into Sickbay and held out her cybernetic left hand for his tricorder. She did not say a word, which was worrisome in itself; the Doctor began to wonder if he had been too brusque in his comm message. He may be her instructor in the social graces, but he was by no means perfect in that department himself.

It was the bruises on her neck which brought him out of his worries and into the present.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, snatching up the dermal regenerator. "Seven – how did this happen? Did the Hirogen - "

She screwed up her face and hissed in pain as the bruises faded from purple, to yellow-green, and then finally away altogether.

"Yes," she said. "Their leader caught hold of my neck twice. He was wearing full body armor, including metal gauntlets. His size and strength were … superior … to Commander Tuvok's and mine."

Most people would have been amazed by the level tone of her voice and the lack of expression on her face. She was almost Vulcan that way; no wonder she and Tuvok got along so well. The Doctor, however, knew her better than that. He could see how pale she was, hear the faint note of uncertainty in her voice. And when he placed a hand on her shoulder, he felt her tremble.

"What did they want with the two of you?" he probed.

Getting her to talk was the key; the more she told him about her ordeal, the more likely it was that she would allow those post-traumatic fears some kind of expression.

"To kill us," she said, "And prepare us as hunting trophies. They referred to us as prey' … they were particularly interested in my intestines. Is the length and shape of the human intestine unusual somehow?"

The Doctor shuddered, thinking of the body _Voyager _had found which was no more than a bag of empty skin, subjected to a complete osteotomy – in other words, gutted.

"In the Delta Quadrant, who knows?" he muttered darkly.

"Commander Tuvok was … impressive," Seven continued, admiration beginning to color her voice. "True to his Vulcan nature, he showed no fear whatsoever. He faced our captors with dignity and courage."

"As did you, I'm sure," said the Doctor.

Seven's mind flashed back to those moments inside the dark, stinking Hirogen ship whose walls were hung with skulls, bones and blades. The hulking forms of their captors looming over them in armor reminiscent of the Borg. The knife which the subordinate had been sharpening just before _Voyager'_s arrival.

She had tried so hard to be brave, to stare up into their faces and answer back defiantly just like Tuvok. But the Hirogen leader had only sneered, grabbed her neck, and ordered Tuvok to be _'prepared first … so the female can see what will happen to her'._

Seven was a tall and healthy woman, with Borg strength and a wide range of self-defense techniques at her disposal. But to those creatures, she might as well have been six years old again.

She hated them. It surprised even her. So this was what it felt like to hate – hot and cold, like a fever and a sick headache all at once.

"I was 'pathetic prey' to them," she retorted grimly. "Easily taken."

"You were vastly outmatched," the Doctor argued. "There was nothing you could have done."

"Exactly!" she snapped. Didn't he realize that this was exactly what troubled her?

"You were frightened. That's a perfectly natural response, Seven, there's no need to feel ashamed of it!"

Seven was not having any human psychological jargon just then, not even from her teacher. She was about to walk out when the Doctor caught her by the shoulder and spun her around.

"I challenge you," he said with customary drama, "To a Velocity match. Holodeck one, eighteen hundred hours."

She pulled herself away and glowered at him. "I do not require a social activity at this time."

"Oh yes, you do." He glowered back and began gesturing widely with his hands. "You need to shoot those balls. Bounce off the walls. Defeat me soundly if you can. I'll program my skill level to be an exact match for yours and we'll play until you're too exhausted to even remember the Hirogen species' name. The Captain tells me you're a crack shot and fiercely competitive. Now's your chance to prove it."

Seven blinked. She could hardly believe it.

"I was under the impression that you do not enjoy athletic pursuits."

"I'm a hologram," the Doctor retorted, folding his arms with a smug grin. "I don't sweat and I don't get tired. Now, are you coming?"

"Affirmative."

It was not until he had politely chivvied her out of Sickbay that Seven realized two things: firstly, he had not technically answered her question of whether he liked Velocity or not. Secondly, more than her bruises had stopped hurting.

Velocity, indeed. Hologram or not, she was going to pound him into the floor.


	15. Prey

_16. Prey_

Seven and the Doctor watched as the large, spindly-legged, insectoid Species 8472 alien and its Hirogen hunter, wrestling on the floor, were seized by Seven's transporter beam and vanished in a blue mist. Nothing remained but a few spots of 8472's green blood. The floor stopped shaking; the six Hirogen vessels were calling off their attack.

Seven turned to her teacher, and saw the condemnation in his eyes.

"Seven of Nine," he whispered, still staring at the spot on the floor. "_What_ have you done?"

"I have beamed them both onto the nearest Hirogen vessel," she snapped back. "As a result, they are no longer firing on us."

The Doctor took a step back from her. "You exposed a dying life form to a shipful of its enemies?"

"It was _not _dying! You saw how strong it was."

"_Still_! Why didn't you just _shoot_ it with a phaser?" He raised his voice and drew himself up, somehow making her feel small even though he only had a single inch on her.

"Believe me, I considered it!"

They glared at each other, making Seven recall a word she had recently heard from Captain Janeway. _Stalemate._ A term used in war.

"Doctor to bridge," tapping his commbadge with more force than necessary, "8472 and the hunter are both gone. Seven's made sure of that."

"We noticed," came the Captain's dour reply. An alto, getting angry made her sound as if she had swallowed a bucket of nails. "Seven, confine yourself to the Cargo Bay until further notice. We'll discuss the consequences later. Janeway out."

Seven and the Doctor left that section of Deck 11 and entered a turbolift in furious silence, each waiting for the other to speak. Seven found herself choked by a hot smothering wave of resentment – for Janeway and the Doctor and their judgemental attitudes, for the Hirogen, for 8472, for herself; she hardly knew which.

It was the Doctor who spoke first.

"I'm disappointed, Seven."

_That _cut her. "So am I."

He whirled around to face her. "What?"

"I thought you, as an eyewitness, would at least understand that I was acting in the best interests of our crew."

"I _understand_ that you condemned an innocent life form to a brutal death, against the diret order of the Captain."

"Innocent? It invaded our ship and attacked our people!"

"It was injured and barely conscious! It hardly knew what it was doing. You heard Commander Tuvok, this being has been stranded outside of fluidic space for six months! It only wanted to get home, just as we are! Don't you have the slightest bit of compassion?"

The word _compassion_, coming after Captain Janeway's repeated use of it during her wartime fable in the ready room, was too much. Seven grabbed the Doctor by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall, getting up in his face as her Hirogen captors had done to her a week ago.

"I have _compassion_ for one hundred and fifty-two crewmembers of _Voyager_ under attack from six heavily armed Hirogen vessels. They warned us that unless we surrendered their prey, _we_ would take its place. You would have had no sickbay left to practice in, Doctor, and the Hirogen would have less patience with your vanity and arrogance than I do."

She let go, breathing hard, surprised at the ferocity of her own anger. It seemed that a Velocity game or two was not quite enough, after all, to sweat it out of her system.

"Those two species are extremely dangerous," she said, in a quieter voice. "They posed a threat to the ship. I had only seconds to decide how to counter it, and I did what seemed best for the safety of my collective. I only wish you would try to consider my perspective."

She thought of the social exercise the two of them had worked on only that morning, a sort of scripted role-play in which to practice exchanging common pleasantries such as 'thank you', 'excuse me', or 'you look lovely today'. They had exchanged places, Seven reading the doctor's lines while the Doctor read the nurse's. If only it were possible to do that in reality: read each other's script, feel exactly how they felt and think what they were thinking. One could avoid so many misunderstandings that way.

"I'm a _medical_ hologram," was the Doctor's answer. "Violence in any form is abhorrent to me. That's part of my programming."

"And yet violence is sometimes inescapable in the defense of oneself or one's comrades. You informed me yourself of the attack launched on two Romulan warbirds by you and your fellow EMH while aboard the _U. S. S. Prometheus._"

The Doctor lowered his head and sighed.

"You are proud of this," Seven persisted. "You expect to be lauded as a hero upon _Voyager_'s return. Yet the ships were destroyed, and its crew presumably killed."

The Doctor flinched. "That's not fair, Seven. You're twisting my words around. I'm proud because Mark Two and I stopped that little tin-pot from blowing up around our ears! And because I got through to Starfleet. Taking those lives was a necessary evil, but an evil nonetheless. I would've gladly gone without it."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he frowned and cupped his chin in one hand, looking anywhere but at Seven – a difficult feat in such a small turbolift.

"Is that how you feel, Seven?" he finally asked.

She only nodded.

"If the Hirogen hadn't been a threat … would you still have refused to open that quantum singularity?"

Seven reflected. Would she have? On the one hand, since the beginning of the battles between the Collective and Species 8472, it was ingrained in every drone, including herself, to hate and fear them. Besides that, it was hard to empathize with a creature that lived in fluidic space, looked like something between a skeleton and a giant praying mantis, and shrieked like the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. On the other hand … she recalled Commander Tuvok's strained tone of voice as he translated the dying creature's telepathic message. It must have been in so much pain, and cut off from its own kind … just like a Borg severed from the Collective. Not to mention having been hunted by Hirogen for months.

'_It has no desire for further conflict … it only wants to return to its domain.'_

"No," said Seven. "I would have sent the creature home."

"I apologize for losing my temper just now," said the Doctor ruefully. "I imagine that once the Captain gets through with you, you'll be feeling bad enough without me adding my two cents' worth."

"Captain Janeway sees my actions as undermining her authority," Seven replied. "And contradicting her ethical principles."

She wondered wryly which offense was worse.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "What does she expect, for you to turn into a Janeway Mark Two who agrees with her on everything? What happened to encouraging your independence?"

"A valid point, Doctor. She is an excellent leader and I respect her, but in this instance I believe she is in error."

"_To err is human, to forgive divine_," the Doctor said grandly, waving his hand.

Seven considered this a good sign. If he could quote, that meant his equanimity was restored. To her great relief, so was hers … at least for the moment. Until the Captain came to call.

"Computer, resume turbolift," she said. "Destination: Sickbay."

The lift went smoothly upward and, in a few seconds, deposited the Doctor right in front of his domain.

"Good night, Doctor," said Seven, mindful of her social lessons, as it was 2000 hours and they would likely not see each other again until morning. She even softened her voice (_'sound like you mean it'_) and it worked. He beamed.

"And a good night to you, Ms. Seven."


	16. Retrospect

_17. Retrospect_

Kovin, the arms dealer and suspected perpetrator of assault on Seven of Nine, had been dead for three days and the senior crew's morale was low. Janeway was disappointed with Seven for pursuing a vendetta against an innocent man. After the disaster with Species 8472, the growing trust between them was all but gone. The Doctor was plagued with remorse for having used his brand-new psychiatric subroutines on Seven, which had led her to 'remember' an attack which no one could prove was real. Seven herself was more unapproachable than ever, speaking to no one except as efficiency required. Not even the Doctor could get a civil word out of her; in fact, she avoided him the most.

Therefore, when the hail came from the Entharian magistrate saying that he had found further evidence on Kovin's case, there was a collective sense of dismay.

The tall, middle-aged man with the clipped gray beard leaned forward and surveyed Seven across the briefing room table. She looked away. If he had found further proof of Kovin's innocence, she did not want to hear it.

"Kovin's accomplice," he said, "Has been found and taken into custody. She has given our security officers her eyewitness account of the – procedure – you were forced to undergo. Her story matches yours."

Seven looked up, dizzy with astonishment. "Sir?"

Kovin's accomplice … she remembered the stony-faced Entharian woman, with her brown hair in a bob like Torres's, whom Kovin had dismissed as a figment of Seven's imagination along with the rest of it – the nanoprobes being sucked out of her hand, the diagnostic bed shutting her in, the man in the bed next to hers whom they had assimiated with her own nanoprobes.

"Her name is Scharn. She claims to have been blackmailed and threatened into working for Kovin. She has also shown remorse for her actions, however forced, and wishes me to convey her apology to you."

Seven hardly knew what to say. If she were human, she might have thumped the table with her fist and exclaimed: _I knew it! I told you so! _She felt light, free, knowing she was vindicated and that her brain, far from playing a cruel trick on her, was as sharp and reliable as ever.

Kovin's death was still regrettable. A prison sentence would have been more fitting than to overload his own weapons and go down in a fiery conflagration with his ship. But perhaps now Captain Janeway would finally stop giving her protegée the cold shoulder, and the Doctor recover from his fit of gloom. Seven looked aound, and sure enough – both of them were looking back at her.

"Perhaps this counselling idea of mine," said the Doctor, folding his arms contentedly, "Wasn't a total loss after all."

"All the same," the Captain warned, smiling crookedly, "I wouldn't go using the crew as guinea pigs for your new subroutines quite yet."

As they filed out, the older woman gave Seven a motherly smile and a pat on the shoulder, to signify that all was forgiven. Seven nodded back. There was a great deal to talk about, preferably over coffee on the ready room couch, but it could wait.

As soon as the Captain and the magistrate were out of earshot and on their way to the transporter platform, the Doctor turned to Seven and took both her hands in his.

"I never should have doubted you," he said warmly. "Or myself, for that matter. After Species 8472, after all my resolve to take your point of view into account, to trust and support you, what do I do but turn my back on you again? The very idea of you – you, one of the most disciplined people I know – breaking Kovin's nose for no reason! Afraid of my tricorder, which I've only ever used in the service of your health – fabricating memories of events that never happened – oh, Seven … " He shook his head.

"I knew there was something fishy – I mean, suspicious – about the whole business. But you an hardly arrest someone on the basis of a gut feeling, can you? Especially since holograms or Borg drones aren't supposed to _have_ gut feelings."

"If you mean intuition, that is exactly what I felt." She swallowed hard. "I have been concerned that … these recent events indicate a deterioration of my mental processes. That I was going insane, and had condemned an innocent man to his death."

The Doctor snorted. "Hmph! He didn't _act_ like an innocent man. We should have known. Running away like that, suspecting us of a trap … he was far too paranoid and defensive to be innocent. And look where it got him: blowing up his own ship! No, Seven, I'd say we can finally put our consciences at rest."

He smiled for the first time in five days, and it was like warm raindrops falling on Seven's face. She hadn't even noticed how much she missed that smile until it was gone.

"I … neglected to report for my social lesson yesterday," Seven managed to say. "May I come to Sickbay tonight instead, at the usual time?"

It was her way of reaching out, of telling him she forgave him and wanted things between them to be right again.

"Certainly," he said.


	17. The Killing Game

_18/19. The Killing Game_

The Doctor had rarely, in his four years of existence, seen anything as breathtakingly lovely as Seven of Nine in a silver satin gown.

He perched on his barstool, disguised in nondescript 1940's civilian clothes and nursing a holographic glass of wine. He couldn't say which was the greater pleasure, listening to her sing in that low velvety voice or watching her. There were two jewelled combs in her golden hair which glittered as she moved her head. Even the Hirogen – or rather, the Nazis – followed her with appreciative eyes, though with their pockmarked, leathery faces it was hard to tell.

The Doctor wondered what their captors had in store for Seven this time. Was she a covert member of _La Résistance, _to be hunted down and beaten within an inch of her life? Or was she (please, God!) nothing but a singer this time, a civilian who would be kept out of the fighting? That last possibility was most unlikely, he decided, with a furtive glare in the direction of the gray-uniformed soldiers. Seven was one of their favorites. Damn them all.

"Why aren't you in Sickbay?"

A heavy hand landed on the Doctor's shoulder from behind. He flinched, almost spilling his drink.

"What now?" He rolled his eyes dramatically, masking his fear with bravado. "I'm not even allowed to take a five-minute break?"

"You're a hologram," the Hirogen growled, towering over him in his crisp gray uniform. "You don't need breaks."

"I've been working 'round the clock patching up your last victims, there are no new ones yet, and I've got nothing to do. So you might as well let me stay here and listen to the music, which I've earned several times over by now!"

The Hirogen took a step closer, patting the gun at his belt. "If you don't get back to your post _this instant, _hologram, I'll give you more work than you can handle. Now move."

"_Very_ well." With his best irritated sigh, the one usually reserved for Tom Paris, the Doctor downed his wineglass (already paid for) and strolled past the Hirogen with his head held high. On his way past the piano, he dropped a few coins into Seven's tip jar and even waved to her when their eyes met. She continued the song without acknowledging him. Of course not. With the neural interface, as far as she was concerned he was just another faceless customer.

"Before you get complacent, you great bully," he told the Hirogen haughtily, "Don't forget that the Nazis were on the losing side."


	18. Vis a Vis

_20. Vis à Vis_

"I should have known!" was the Doctor's comment on the debacle of the body-snatching alien. He shook his fist into the air, possibly envisioning the entity known as Steth for lack of its real name.

Seven raised a cybernetic eyebrow. "Explain."

"That – life form – who spoke to me in sickbay couldn't have been Tom Paris, and if my confounded vanity hadn't blinded me, I would have been the first to know."

"What did he tell you?"

The Doctor sighed and wagged his head from side to side. "He called me a genius … said he could never hope to be half the healer I was, that he felt inferior next to me … "

"He appealed to your ego," Seven pointed out, her voice dry.

The Doctor whirled around, stopping in his pacing back and forth through Sickbay to throw up both hands. "Yes! That's exactly what he did! And what did I do in response? Expose him for the lying, fraudulent identity thief he was? No, I put my hand on his shoulder and gave him the day off. To _realize his worth._ Ha!"

"The genuine Lieutennt Paris does not dislike you," Seven interrupted. "From what I have observed, he enjoys engaging you in verbal disputes. His lack of enthusiasm for his Sickbay duties derives from the fact that he considers piloting to be his primary function. He believes his talents are most efficiently put to use on the bridge. That does not equate to any lack of confidence in regards to you. On the contrary, Paris is a very confident individual."

The Doctor listened without pacing. Seven, for all her inexperience among humans, was an astute observer and judge of character.

"You may be right."

She raised her chin and looked down her nose at him. "I know I am."

"Now which of us is being vain?"

Seven's lips twitched. He got the feeling that if she were human, she would have burst out laughing.

"By the way, Seven, I'd like to show you something." The idea of vanity had brought it to his mind; Lieutenant Torres would certainly call him vain if she knew he'd been 'messing around' with his programming again.

"I've decided to expand my program a little … add a few non-medical subroutines, so I can have more of a rounded personality. Besides, it's fun."

Truthfully, it was Seven's own beautiful voice which had burnt itself into his holographic heart and inspired him. He could hardly tell her that, though; not when she didn't even remember being the bar singer Mademoiselle DeNeuf. Not when her singing had only served to kill time for their Hirogen torturers. He wouldn't remind her of that time if he could help it.

He picked up his mobile emitter and said: "Computer, two to transport directly to Holodeck One. Run program Doctor Alpha: "La Scala". Play musical selection _La donna é mobile_, instrumental only."

By the time he was done giving orders, he found himself on the stage of a grandiose italian opera house, with an audience of hundreds of holograms and Seven in the first row. He opened his mouth and let his voice soar.


	19. The Omega Directive

_21. The Omega Directive_

"I have assimilated the text you gave me," said Seven, dropping the data padd edition of Charles Dickens' _Christmas Carol_ onto the Doctor's desk with an impatient clatter.

"Ah, yes." He picked it up and glanced down at it abstractedly. "So what did you think? Have a seat."

Seven lowered herself stiffly into the chair opposite his. She still preferred to stand; in fact, she would prefer to be out of the room altogether and back at her post in Astrometrics.

"The reading of fiction is an irrelevant pursuit. It is a waste of time."

Truthfully, what with the appearance and destruction of hundreds of beautiful, infinitely powerful Omega molecules taking place on _Voyager_ itself, Seven had barely been able to concentrate on her assigned reading. She had seen eye to eye, so to speak, with Perfection itself. In her mind, this was no time for novels.

"We've already been over this, Seven," said the Doctor, rolling his eyes. "Please don't make me repeat myself. Fiction is not only a means of entertainment, but a reflection of the society in which it is created. You can learn a great deal about sentient beings from the stories they tell. Do you think you've learned anything from Mr. Dickens?"

Seven sighed, looking askance at the padd. She had been ordered to read it all with her eyes, as opposed to inserting her tubules and uploading the text into her cortical node. As a result, her mind was still a jumble of words and concepts which she had made herself research in order to understand what she was reading, i. e. _'Change_ (the London Stock Exchange, a nineteenth-century Terran equivalent to the Ferengi Tower of Commerce); _saying grace _(a ritual prayer before meals) or _bobs _(a slang term for a small currency). It was all incredibly foreign and it gave her a headache.

"I do not know," she finally admitted. "The archaic language was difficult to follow."

"But did you get the gist of the story?"

"Yes … I suppose."

"And can you summarize it in your own words?"

"The protagonist, Ebenezer Scrooge, is visited by four paranormal phenomena who persuade him to change his lifestyle and principles."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Bravo, Seven. You can make one of Earth's greatest novels sound like a science officer's log. Now, _why_ did they change him? Scrooge, that is?"

Seven remembered. She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she was having an emotional reaction to the story after all – what it was exactly, she found hard to determine.

"Scrooge was … a man who made many errors. He focused on the acquisition of profit to the exclusion of all else. His employee had a child who was ill and disabled, and yet Scrooge offered no assistance to the family. Such behavior is in violation of human morality."

Seven thought of the C'tati refugees with their ragged clothes and hungry eyes, imagining them with human faces in the alleyways of a smoky city. She thought of Captain Janeway painstakingly explaining the concept of compassion.

The Doctor beamed. "_Now_ we're getting somewhere! If Tiny Tim's story hadn't moved you, I would've been really worried. Ever since Lieutenant Torres added tears to my programming, that little boy's death _always_ makes me cry."

"It has not _moved_ me," said Seven, her hand flying guiltily to the corner of her right eye.

"On the contrary, I found the plot to be absurd. An individual cannot destroy and recreate an entire personality in twenty-four hours. As for spirits, they were more likely hallucinations."

"_More of gravy than of grave,_" the Doctor quoted, chuckling. "Perhaps. Let's not go into that for now. But you know, Seven … epiphanies like that may be rare, but not impossible. _You_ changed in a single second."

A stab of remembered pain shot through her head. Commander Chakotay. The breaking of the link.

"No, Doctor. My link to the Collective was severed, but I was still Borg. My adaptation to individuality has been gradual."

The word _epiphany_ reminded her of her three seconds with Omega. The best she could describe it was being watched; she did not understand it, but she would never dismiss spirituality as irrelevant again.

"But it never would have happened without us," the Doctor argued. "We were your Christmas spirits, so to speak. The Captain, Chakotay and I."

"I am not Scrooge."

"You _are_ something of a _'tight-fisted hand at the grindstone'_," the Doctor retorted, looking rather smug for working that quote in.

"Clarify."

He folded his arms and looked at her accusingly. "I hear you've been upsetting Ensign Kim again."

"How does Ensign Kim relate to a nineteenth-century novel?"

"Well, you certainly made a Bob Cratchit of him today, along with nine other crewmembers. Numbered designations, Seven? Was that really necessary?"

Seven looked away from his sharp hazel eyes and down at her hands. In her work on the harmonic chamber, which she had specially designed to contain and stabilize the Omega particles, she had gotten a little carried away.

"This way was more efficient," she defended herself.

"And put a severe damper on morale. You and I may not mind going without names, but most individuals consider them vitally important to their identity. Certain Kazon sects literally kill for new names. Poor Mr. Kim has been very patient with you in your combined work on Astrometrics. The least you could do is consider _his_ feelings from time to time."

If 'poor Mr. Kim' had any respect for _her_ feelings, she thought, he wouldn't distract her with so much irrelevant chatter. All the same, perhaps an apology was in order.

"Scrooge's lack of charity was only one of his flaws," the Doctor continued, falling back into teaching mode. "It's not just that he didn't help Tiny Tim. He didn't accept _any_ kind of communication – not from his nephew, the fundraisers or anyone else. He isolated himself in his own little world instead of, as Marley puts it, _'walking abroad among his fellow men'_. Or women. He didn't bring happiness to anybody's life. That's why nobody even mourned him when he died."

Seven shuddered mentally at the memory of Scrooge seeing his own corpse in an alternate future timeline. The servants had taken the bedcurtains and even the clothes off the body, to sell them. No one had cared enough about Scrooge to even guard his remains.

Normally Seven was not squeamish, but Dickens was a powerful writer and she had _seen_ everything – the bundle on the bed, the filthy pawn shop, the servants gloating happily over the profits from their master's death – with dreadful clarity in her mind's eye.

As a drone, she had been quite indifferent to the idea of her armored body being discarded at her deactivation. Now, however …

"If I were to die here … on _Voyager_ … would there be a memorial service?"

The Doctor looked momentarily stunned. He blinked once, then twice. His face softened.

"Of course, Seven."

"Would you attend it?" she asked.

For a moment, the Doctor's face was shadowed as put his chin in one hand and looked away. There was a grim look around the corners of his mouth.

"I would," he said solemnly. "Front and center. So would the Captain, Mr. Kim, even Mr. Tuvok in his Vulcan way … we'd all mourn for you."

There was nothing Seven could say to that. She only nodded, a choking feeling closing up her throat.

"So you see, you're not entirely a Scrooge." The Doctor pulled himself together with a slightly too-cheerful smile. "And you won't be, if your Starfleet guardian spirits have anything to say about it."


	20. Unforgettable

_22. Unforgettable_

"I have a proposal for you, Doctor," said Seven.

The Doctor glanced up from the small white computer screen in his office, looking intrigued. "I'm listening."

"Kellin," she said, plunging right into the heart of the matter, "Intends to stay on _Voyager_. However, considering her Ramuran physiology, any crewmember who does not see her for twenty-four hours forgets her existence. This state of things is most inefficient and must be dealt with."

"If you're thinking of marooning her, Commander Chakotay won't stand for it," the Doctor interrupted. "He'd have you court-martialed for the very suggestion. Not to mention the Captain. Kellin asked for asylum, and as far as those two are concerned, wild targs won't drag her away from the ship."

Seven glared. "I was thinking no such thing. My plan is to attempt to modify my nanoprobes for the purpose of canceling the memory-blocking agents in her body."

The Doctor blinked and stared for a second or two. Nanoprobes …

"Why, that's brilliant!" he exclaimed, lighting up as he got to his feet. "Why didn't I think of it? Seven, you're a miracle!" He squeezed her shoulder affectionately on his way out the office door.

"We can extract them now, if you have the time," he called over his shoulder, assembling his shiny instruments.

"Those nanoprobes of yours are incredible, aren't they?" he enthused, holding a tool for her to insert her tubules into. "The most versatile invention ever made. I don't even want to know from which species you assimilated them, but they've certainly been a trememdous help to us. Saving Neelix, and now this … if it works … which, given our formidable combined expertise, I'm sure it will. I just hope Ms. Kellin won't object."

"She will not. Kellin is an intelligent and rational individual, and she will certainly realize the benefits of becoming present in the crew's long-term memory."

The Doctor looked at Seven sharply as she withdrew the tubules. "My, my. High praise."

She looked right back.

"You actually like her, don't you?" he asked, a sly smile beginning to grow at the corners of his mouth.

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

The smile spread. "Well, I believe this is the first time you've interacted with a non-crewmember of _Voyager_ without threats, insults, or outright violence on one side or another. Congratulations, Seven."

She counted back: the K'tati, the Srivani, the dreamers, the Hirogen, Kovin, the entity known as Steth … he was right. Obnoxious, overly perceptive hologram that he was.

"Are you mocking me, Doctor?"

The smile disappeared, replaced by a look of utmost dignity.

"Nothing of the sort. In fact, I think it's a sign of progress. Have you made friends with Kellin at all?" he asked eagerly, as he might ask about the 'progress' of some medical research. He was a doctor; he couldn't help becoming clinical from time to time.

"I … respect her. She is efficient and competent. Her communications are more direct than those of most humanoids, therefore easier to understand. She … does not expect me to behave like a Human. It is … refreshing."

The Doctor realized, with an uncomfortable twist to his emotional subroutines, that _this_ must be the reason Seven wanted Kellin to stay. Everyone on _Voyager_ was pressuring her in one way or another – some through their dislike and disapproval, such as B'Elanna, and some through trying to 're-assimilate' her as a Human, such as the Captain and himself. Nobody took her at face value, accepted her as she was. Only how could they, when she was just so … Borg?

Borg. Right. This was the first time, the Doctor remembered, that Seven had donated nanoprobes for any purpose since Kovin's forced extraction two months ago.

"You do realize," he said, very gently, "That Kellin might not be able to stay? Suppose her people catch up with her and force us to send her back? Or suppose things don't work out between herself and the Commander and she decamps to the nearest M-class planet? On this mad boat, you know, anything is possible."

"I will adapt," she said haughtily, ignoring his joke as usual.

"I, for one, hope she stays," the Doctor admitted. "And not only for Chakotay's sake. The crew could learn a great deal from her. Her open-mindedness, her willingness to try new things … I heard she's adjusting wonderfully to Earth cuisine."

"She has expressed an appreciation for vanilla pudding," said Seven.

How could this woman say such things with the deadly gravity of an engineer announcing a warp core breach? The Doctor wondered, not for the first time, with amused exasperation.

_You should try it,_ he almost said. _I hear it's delicious._

However, just for once, Seven's diligent instructor kept his mouth shut. If she wanted to live on liquid nutritional supplements, so be it.


	21. Living Witness

_23. Living Witness_

It was the 32nd century A. D., and the Doctor – rather, a backup copy of the Doctor – had not been active for seven hundred years. He found himself in a museum now, trying to hammer it into the curator's head that _Voyager_ had _not_ been responsible for genocide. At least the man was listening now, rather than deactivating him in the middle of a sentence. He was also asking a great deal of questions

"And what about those Borg drones?" he asked eagerly. "They've terrified me ever since I first saw the simulation in school. Soulless machine-people marching to kill, led by a ruthless female as hard-hearted as her captain … "

"That's absurd!" said the Doctor, with an irritable toss of his head, for what felt like the millionth time. "Seven of Nine was the only Borg on board and she was _not_ soulless."

"But she was a Borg."

"_Seventeen percent _Borg, if you please. I removed the rest of her implants myself."

"You did?" The curator's air of surprise was not flattering. The Doctor glared.

"How did it happen?"

"Our Captain tried to make a deal with the Borg, which needless to say, did not go well. Seven tried to assimilate the ship, we severed her link to the Collective in order to stop her, and Captain Janeway – note this, Mr. Quarren – decided to help her regain her individuality."

"Incredible!" Quarren's eyes glowed. "Captain Janeway, perpretrating an act of compassion. Wouldn't it have been easier just to shoot the drone?"

"Brutality, contrary to that gruesome simulation of yours, is not the Starfleet way."

"So how did this … Seven? … adapt to _Voyager_?"

"Oh, it was certainly a bumpy road." The Doctor felt in his element; he loved to lecture. "She's not the most – congenial company, is Seven. Tends to rub people the wrong way, not unlike myself, I'm told. She was very … direct. Almost painfully so. The sort of person who'd tell you to your face that your favorite hobby was irrelevant."

Quarren winced. "Sounds unpleasant."

The Doctor let out a hiss of irritation. He had never tried to describe Seven to an outsider before, and was finding it nearly impossible.

"I never said she was _unpleasant_! That's the last word I'd use. Difficult, yes. Complex, certainly. Irritating, sometimes. But the hours I've spent with her – talking to her, teaching her how to behave as a human, debating with her about everything from life and death to Velocity … have been some of the most rewarding moments of my existence. She challenges me … makes me see the universe through new eyes … I care about her. A lot."

Quarren, meanwhile, had been looking increasingly anxious during the Doctor's speech. Now he interrupted.

"Doctor … er … excuse me, but you've been referring to this woman in the present tense. Is it possible you're malfunctioning?"

_Crash_!

That was reality catching up with the Doctor. He reeled, holding on to the stair rail of the white exhibition hall where torpedos, data padds, and his own tricorder lay on display as ancient artifacts. Seven hundred years old.

Seven hundred years.

At Quarren's first mention of the fact, the Doctor had thrown a primadonna fit and stormed from the room. next, he had plunged into the tast of redeeming _Voyager_ from the villain's role in which history had cast it. He had never stopped to think about what that meant in regards to his crew.

_But I can still see them,_ he thought helplessly, his emotional subroutines trembling like torn harp strings. _The Captain's laughing eyes and her hand on my shoulder, Tuvok's precise Vulcan voice, Neelix puttering around the mess hall, Tom strolling into Sickbay with a smirk on his face, B'Elanna lecturing me about the maintenance of my program, Harry dreaming of his mother's apple pie … _

_Seven. Seven standing at attention with her hands behind her back, Seven looking down her beautiful nose, Seven calling something irrelevant. Seven giving nanoprobes to save a man's life. Seven throwing herself against a forcefield, knocked about by Hirogen, assaulted by Kovin, and stronger every time. Seven in a silver gown, with jewelled combs in her hair, singing fit to break my heart._

And he would never see them again.

Photonic tears stung his eyes as he turned away. "No, Mr. Quarren, I am not malfunctioning. If you have no further questions, you may leave now."


	22. Demon

_23. Demon_

"So," said the Doctor, "How did you find the Demon-class planet?"

"Appropriately named." Seven's eyes were hard with revulsion; if she were not Borg, she might have shuddered.

"Oh? I thought the Borg didn't believe in demons."

"A barren environment, lethally high temperatures, poisonous gases – all these are elements consistent with the Human concept of hell. In addition, the place is inhabited by a sentient biomimetic fluid which steals the DNA of every life form it encounters, and could have eliminated all of _Voyager_ to save that goal."

This time, Seven really did shudder. The memory of Paris and Kim – rather, the two beings who looked, sounded, smelled and behaved exactly like Paris and Kim – was decidedly eerie.

"Could have, but didn't," the Doctor reminded her cheerfully, flipping his tricorder shut and waving her off the biobed. "Thanks to our Captain's formidable diplomatic skills."

If that was supposed to make Seven feel better, it was _not_ working.

"She gave them DNA samples of the entire crew," she snapped. "Including myself. There are exact duplicates of us on that Demon-class planet, identical in every way … they have stolen our individuality. If I had vacated Astrometrics according to the Captain's orders - "

The Doctor put up his hand, palm out, in an abrupt gesture contrasting with the sympathy in his eyes.

"If _you_ hadn't been your independent, maverick self and located the deuterium on that planet, we'd still be dragging through space in Gray Mode with most of the decks closed down. You saved me from sharing my Sickbay with Mr. Neelix and a pack of noisy roommates – as it happened, I put up with them one night and that was more than enough."

Having teased the hard look out of her eyes with his wry remarks, he continued.

"No one can steal your individuality, Seven. I'm a hologram – I should know. My backup copy got lost in the Kyrian/Vaskan conflict, and there are or used to be thousands of EMH Mark Ones in the Alpha Quadrant, but none of them are _me_ – I just know." He placed his hand over his heart.

"Think of the biological differences – the other Seven couldn't breathe in this atmosphere. She's got silver blood instead of red. Besides that, you'll never even have to see her again, since she's as bound to the Demon-class planet as the rest of them.

"You are _not_ identical. And the silver blood was so happy to discover sentience; don't you think it deserves that much?"

That reminded her of Captain Janeway's explanation to the crew, as kind as it was logical, and she sighed quietly. If he put it that way, it made her sound like some sort of miser – a Scrooge who would deny the use of her identity to an unfortunate liquid lifeform just longing for a solid body and mind.

"The Borg database has no knowledge of any such situations," she complained.

"I suppose not." The Doctor chuckled. "That stuff would have assimilated _you._"

"I do not see the humor in this case."

"You don't have to." He beamed at her benevolently. "I'm simply relieved that the ship is functioning normally again. I _couldn't_ have put up with Neelix and the rest of them in my biobeds anymore, and I daresay they couldn't have put up with me."

When Seven did not reply, he twitched his fingers at her as if she were a dog.

"Come now, Seven. I'm giving you all the cues here. Aren't you going to ask what happened?"

With a haughty tilt of her head, managing to bring up the word 'irrelevant' without having to say it, she asked: "What happened, Doctor?"

"They commandeered all my biobeds – Commander Chakotay didn't even try to stop them – they ordered the lights turned down and made me do my work in the dark, and they complained about every little noise I made as if it were my sole purpose to deprive of sleep."

Seven gave him a shrewd look from under one raised eyebrow.

"Did you display your musical subroutines for them?"

"It was a little bit of humming!" he protested, throwing up his hands. "I've been told humanoids find it soothing; apparently not!"

"Mr. Neelix claims that you attempted to sing an operatic aria at full volume, clattered around with your equipment, and woke him and the others at 0600 hours."

The Doctor let out a huff. "I did not _clatter _anymore than necessary. As for the aria, he interrupted me before I could get past the first note."

"You have informed me that the first rule of social interaction is empathy for others. Perhaps you should have practised what you preach."

The Doctor grimaced.

"Good Lord, Seven. No wonder they say it's the teacher who learns. Where would I be without you? No, you don't need to answer. That was a rhetorical question."

Seven nodded daintily, hoping her confusion was not visible as she found that remark rather difficult to interpret. Was he complimenting her perceptiveness or feeling insulted? Or both?

At the next moment, the Doctor made an abrupt change of subject – possibly to steer the conversation away from his own character flaws.

"I hear you saved Commander Chakotay's life down there," he said. "When you pulled him out of that hole. Good for you."

_Perhaps now he will accept me,_ she thought, in a wistful mood she would barely have recognized a year ago. After breaking her link to the Collective through his neural interface, that terrifying moment of shared minds and buried memories floating to the surface – Chakotay had been, all things considered, quite decent to her. He had found her work in Engineering, partnered her with Ensign Kim for the construction of the Astrometrics lab, mediated between her and Lieutenant Torres, and encouraged the crew to make her feel like 'part of the team'. However, the knowledge she had from their brief connection – he hadn't wanted her on board; he'd thought of her as the scorpion that inevitably stung – left her with a certain sore spot in her mind. Perhaps now he realized that her loyalty lay with _Voyager_ now; that she had no intention of 'stinging' anyone.

It would have been easier for her if Chakotay were harsh, like Torres. It was his politeness, combined with the watchful wariness in his eyes and manners, that made her uneasy.

"If he doesn't know by now that keeping you was the right thing to do," said the Doctor, reading her mind with one look into her eyes, "He's a fool."

"Indeed," Seven agreed, with her best attempt at her usual hauteur.


	23. One

_25. One_

The Doctor came online in Sickbay with a buzz and a flicker, the word _survive_ still on his lips. The last thing he remembered was watching a terrified Seven wrestling with the computer controls, trying to repair the blown-out EPS relays.

_I cannot function alone!_

_Seven, you've got to hang on! You're the only way the crew can survive – _

It might have been his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard Seven scream just before his program failed.

Now here he was, in a Sickbay lit only by the orange bars in the biolab and the glow of the computers. And where in heaven's name was Seven?

"Computer, locate Seven of Nine."

"Seven of Nine is on Deck Fourteen."

The stasis chambers. Right.

"Computer, are we clear of the nebula?"

"Affirmative."

The Doctor slumped into his wheled office chair with an enormous sigh of relief.

"Computer, what's the status of the ship?"

"Weapons systems are offline. Shield generators are offline. Life support is offline – " The computer voice was interrupted by the Doctor's barked command.

"Beam me to Deck Fourteen, _now!_"

Disappearing and reappearing in the hall filled with stasis chambers, not even stopping to worry about his dodgy mobile emitter, the Doctor took in the scene in the blink of an eye. Steam hovered around ten of the stasis units, as if they had been malfunctioning, although their occupants looked as peacefully asleep as ever. In a corner by the wall console lay a gold-and-brown bundle that was Seven of Nine, her mouth open, her blue eyes closed.

She was not breathing.

The computer displayed the steps she had taken to preserve the lives of the crew. First, rerouting power from every available system into propulsion, including the stasis chambers. Then, in turn, taking power from life support to keep the stasis chambers running.

_Seven! What were you thinking, you foolish woman? Couldn't you have maintained life support in this room at least? This is NOT what I meant when I told you to hang on!_

He scooped her up in his arms – she was frighteningly easy to carry, even for a hologram – and beamed her directly back to Sickbay. As he tucked a blanket around her inert form on the biobed and prepared his equipment to bring her back to life, he resolved that the first thing she would hear from his lips this time would be something kind.

He had spent far too much time in this cursed nebula nagging and criticising her, instead of giving her the warmth and support she needed. He had badly underestimated the effects of solitude for both of them. And yet … when the ship had malfunctioned … one look at each other and they had turned from a bickering couple into a smoothly cooperating pair.

One hell of a team, as Mr. Paris would say.

he Doctor found his anger, born of worry, fading as the surgery progressed. Seven had been hallucinating; it was a miracle that she'd got _Voyager_ through the nebula at all.

She would live. And he would tell her, though words could never fully express it, how very proud he was.


	24. Hope and Fear

_26. Hope and Fear_

"Seven of Nine, what did the Captain tell you about working too hard?" said the Doctor, dropping down into the chair opposite hers in the mess hall.

Seven put down her data padd and her mug of nutritional supplement, looked up with an exaggeratedly patient air she must have picked up from Tuvok, and lifted an eyebrow.

"My task is of a high priority. I am attempting to design a safe and reliable quantum slipstream drive in order for _Voyager _to reach Earth."

That startled him out of continuing his reprimands, just as she had intended.

"But you – I thought you hated the idea of going back to Earth."

Seven had made no secret of her disapproval of Starfleet Command's supposed rescue ship, the _Dauntless, _even before it had revealed itself to be a trap laid by a vengeful alien.

"I did. I do. However … " Seven blinked her long eyelashes and looked down absently at her padd, for once at a loss for words.

"When the Captain and I were held in the brig … heading towards Borg space … I discovered that the prospect of returning to the Collective was even less endurable."

_So Earth is the lesser of two evils then,_ thought the Doctor. He could understand that; in his heart of hearts, he was not too enthusiastic about returning to the Alpha Quadrant himself. He liked to imagine his return throwing Starfleet Medical into an uproar, being hailed as a miracle of holographic technology, showered with awards and his pick of the choicest research positions. However, as far as he knew, they were just as likely to dismantle his program for their studies. Who knew if he'd even get to see his crew again?

"A year ago, you would have jumped at the chance," he pointed out thoughtfully. "You called the Borg 'your people'. You _did_ try to go back, twice in fact. You really have changed, haven't you?"

Seven looked up at him, but her eyes were still far away. "Yes … I have."

After a pause, she added, almost shamefaced by her standards: "You may have observed that the Captain and I often disagree."

_They certainly do,_ thought the Doctor, remembering all those times Seven had vented her frustration on him after an argument with her mentor.

"Recently, I … behaved inappropriately towards her. I called her weak, irrational; I threatened to leave _Voyager_ and survive on my own rather than face the return to the Alpha Quadrant."

For a moment, the Doctor felt a cold shock of fear at the thought.

"You wouldn't!"

"I considered it. I do not wish to be confronted with a planet of humans, who will doubtlessly resent me for my Borg heritage. I disguised my … apprehension … as contempt for individuality. I insulted the Captain. Yet she forgave me, as she always does, and continues to regard me as her protegée."

As he listened, the Doctor found himself shaking his head and smiling.

"The two of you," he remarked, "Are so much alike … sometimes you might as well be mother and daughter."

A year ago, Seven would have been mortally offended. Now, she looked merely taken aback.

"Specify."

"Look at you, Seven. It's twenty-one-hundred hours and here you are, alone in the mess hall with a padd and a thermos mug. The Captain's infamous for doing that. I don't think you even realize it, which makes it all the more endearing. You're both highly intelligent, fiercely competitive, stubborn as the proverbial mule, and convinced that your way is the right way. No wonder you butt heads occasionally – and care for each other underneath it all."

Seven did not protest at the word 'care' which, if anything, was a clear sign of how far she had come.

"She'd do anything for you, you know," the Doctor continued. "I heard through the grapevine that Arturis accused _you_ of sabotaging the _Dauntless - _and that the Captain shot one look at him and called him a liar. That's true, isn't it?"

"Not in those exact words, but yes."

"That was her way of showing you she trusts you," said the Doctor. "No matter how many times you might glare at each other across the ready room desk, she'll always be there for you when it counts. You don't need to worry about belonging, Seven, on Earth or anyone else. You belong with us."

Seven did not say a word. She didn't have to. Her blue eyes were positively shining.


End file.
